The Lord of the Horns: The Two Directors
by Ger
Summary: A continuation of The Fellowship of the Valve. The fellowship having broken, the individual groups and members head in what direction they perceive is best. As Marisa and Mark take the Valve to Miseri, Strider's royalty comes back and history is unearthed
1. The Riders of Norr on

**Chapter 23  
The Riders of Norr-on**

Eight years and it feels like you're gonna die  
But you get used to anything  
Sooner or later it just becomes your life

Kitchen floor in the evening tossin' my little babies high  
Mary's smiling but she's watching me out of the corner of her eye  
Seems you can't get any more than half free  
I step out onto the front porch and suck the cold air deep inside of me  
Got a cold mind to go tripping 'cross that thin line  
I'm sick of doin' straight time  
-Bruce Springsteen

They gazed around, a confused and somewhat off-balanced group, due to fatigue. The stars shone above, giving little light with the aid of the moon. Upon the highlands of the Amon Ruil, they viewed the downward sloping valley into which the Orchs had descended. Andrew and Victoria together, Michelle, and Emily all sat by themselves and rested as Strider debated where they would move on to.

Looking around her, Victoria glanced towards Michelle. Catching her glance, Victoria raised her eyebrows and smiled towards the Flute. Shuddering, Michelle scooted farther away. Leaning towards Victoria, Andrew whispered, "You can have the front side if I get the backdoor."

"Which way would they turn, do you think?" asked Emily at last, breaking the silence. The sun was rising, ever so slightly, upon the horizon. Emily removed a snack she had packed with her and started to eat it, awaiting Strider's response.

"They won't head to the river; I'm absolutely certain of that," he told her slowly, still surveying the land. "And unless Norr-on is more fucked than is expected in these times and Rowumell's power has increased greatly, they'll take the shortest way their asses can find over the fields of the Norirrim. Let's head northwards."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXx

Moaning and sighing slightly, she arched her back. It seemed almost too big. In fact, it was really starting to hurt by now. She pulled back only to feel it push towards her farther, going farther into where it poked her. Flat out groaning by now, she used her elbows to prop herself up and face the quivering thing.

It was a barb of branches, pushing into and scratching her skin. Somehow, during the whole ordeal, someone or something had loosed them from a tree and she found herself pinned under them.

Sighing, Mallika looked about to see if anyone was around to help her. A little bit off, she saw the percussionist who had joined them in Mornia. She had forgotten his name.

"Hey!" she shouted, trying to get his attention. "Can you come over here?" He didn't seem to hear her. Muttering, "Ow!" as she shifted herself, she tried again. This time, he looked in her area, though he still seemed lost. Slowly, he made his way over towards her.

"Hey! Pinned down, now are we?" he asked with a grin.

"Does _everyone_ in band _have_ to be perverted?" Mallika thought to herself. To Tommy, she said, "Can you help me get this off?"

He stood there, as if pondering the notion. He was jerked from his thoughts by a quick rap to the back of the head.

"Stop messing around, Tommy," Rebecca Tauber told him. "Help me get this off her." Together, the two freed the trapped clarinetist.

Turning towards the two to say something, Tommy was cut off by a slight commotion farther off. Simultaneously deciding to investigate, the three set off for the general area of discontent.

Peering down into a shallow ditch, they saw Monica with the Flute from Keeremp-ierkay clutching to the Clarinet's side, not willing to let go. The look of sheer terror explained the poor girl's reluctance to Monica's now desperate attempts for departure.

Kyrstin made her way up near the other two, flag in hand and looked down at the Flute and Clarinet. "Aw, Moni, you picked a cute one," she cooed to them.

Monica just shot her a look of disdain.

Also making her way to the top of the slight hill, Laila appeared. She just gave the two a look of amusement.

Laughing at the quickly awkward situation, Tommy looked around the group and then the surrounding area. "Well, at least we'll all get along okay."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Those wretches cannot stop for sleep, at a pace like this," Emily let out, stopping for breath with the rest of the group. Andrew was busy looking about, keeping his eyes peeled. A slight smile formed as he and Victoria met eye contact.

As for Victoria, she sat down as she took in air. Michelle, too, seemed particularly winded.

Strider glanced to the ground with fervor, looking for signs of tracks or some way to follow. "Orchs normally never travel by light. They're unused to it, due to their performance areas and too long a time in the Pit. Yet there is no way they could have traveled this far and long without traveling during the day as well. It's odd," he muttered as he shifted some dirt around and twigs.

A worried look came over Andrew. "We can't travel at night or there won't be a path to follow. When would we rest, if we plan to keep up?"

"We shall continue as we have been," Strider answered simply.

Andrew shook his head. "Man, I could really use some pork up my ass right about now," he muttered to himself.

"They still head to Miengard," Strider told the group. "We shall continue during light: to continue in darkness would be to miss any signs we need."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The night air was cool as it filtered through Andrew's upturned hairdo. Unable to find any blow-dryers, Andrew had somehow still managed his signature style out in the wild. He was keeping guard that night.

Looking about, he noticed Michelle was up and looking off herself, seemingly caught in thought. He softly crept towards her, with Woodwind-like silence, and whispered into her ear, "Are you _lost_, little girl?"

"Holy shit!" Michelle let out as she spun around to Andrew's laughing face. "You stupid Sax, I'll _kill_ you!" she whispered angrily as she got up with her flute case ready to strike his head.

Ducking her blows, he said with complete amusement, "Hey, I know being out of the kitchen for so long has made you anxious, not knowing what to do with yourself for this period of a time, but don't take it out on me!"

However, before Andrew could say anymore, he was tripped and fell downward. He looked up to see Victoria. "_What_ was that, Andrew, about the kitchen?" she asked in a sweet and childish voice, her signature threat.

"Oh, not you Tori. I'd expect to see you at some feminist rally dressed in all leather," he told her, laughing harder.

"Baka!" she let out in a high pitch, raising her hand as if to strike him. While flinching, he laughed all the more.

She just smiled slightly and shook her head. "Forgive him," she said to the still flustered Michelle. Andrew just laughed as he followed Victoria to continue his watch.

Michelle started back to her spot when she stopped at the sound of soft laughing. It was coming from Strider, as he lay there. Michelle just rolled her eyes in frustration as she headed off.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

As the group continued their daily marching, Andrew fell along the way. Unnoticed by the rest of the group who was marching ahead, Emily slowed her pace. Making her way back to him, she helped him up. "Thanks," he said to her, nodding in her direction.

She returned some approval as they continued with more dedication onward.

Reaching yet another hill, they stopped. Glancing down, Andrew immediately noticed horsemen some leagues off.

Pointing them out to Strider, he acknowledged them. "We ought to wait and see what news they bring. They travel the path of our Orchs."

"They have empty saddles, yet I don't see Henry or Melissa," Andrew told them.

"I didn't say it would bring good news," was Strider's only response.

The ground started to thunder as the riders approached. Taking a few steps out, Strider called, "What news from the North, riders of Norr-on?"

Almost instantaneously, the riders shifted course, charging towards the five companions. Soon, they surrounded.

Immediately, brass spears were lowered at the group. "Who are you and what are you doing in this land?" the apparent leader immediately asked.

"My name is Strider. I'm a Clarinet and we hunt Orchs," he told the horseman.

"I thought you for Orchs, when we passed by at first," the rider told him. "Though if you chase Orchs, you do so poorly in that fashion. They were heavily armed when we met them and put up quite the fight." He paused and viewed the other four. "Why do you not speak, silent ones?" he asked of them.

Starting to smile, Emily responded cheerfully enough, in almost a joking fashion, "Tell me your name, and I'd be glad to tell you mine."

The rider didn't smile. His horse came forward slightly, he glared down at her from where he sat, and he said evenly, "I would cut of your head, red hair and all, if it stood but a little higher from the ground."

With Woodwind agility and the strength of a Brass, Andrew brought his hammer up and said, "She stands not alone."

Lagging late, the spears of the group tensed and readied themselves for whatever may yet unfold.

The flustered Emily looked towards the rider with distrust. "Is this how you treat your fellow French horn?" was the only question she asked.


	2. The Others

**Chapter 24  
The Others**

If I could recollect before my hood days  
I would sit in bliss and reminisce on the good days  
I stop and stare at the younger; my heart goes to 'em  
They stressed and goin' under  
We never really went through that  
'Cause we was born B. C. – you and me Before Crack  
Today things change, it's a shame  
They blame it on the youth 'cause the truth look strange  
For them its worse, we come from a world that's cursed  
And it hurts  
'Cause any day they'll push the button.  
And y'all condemned like Malcolm X and Uncle Bob  
They died for nothin'  
Make the people teary, the world looks dreary  
But when you wipe your eyes, you see it clearly  
There's no need for you to fear me  
If you take the time to hear me, maybe you can learn to cheer me  
It ain't about black or white, both doin'  
I hope you see the light before its ruined  
My ghetto gospel  
-2Pac

"Shit!" Jonathan let out under his breath, searching for others. He tried as hard as he could to pull his legs in front of each other, struggling to keep walking. The water and mud seemed to drag at him, pulling him farther down.

To his left, he caught someone else struggling amongst the reeds on the banks. Pushing forward even harder, Jonathan made his way to the restricted, yet fighting, movement.

Pulling out one of the knives he always carried with him, he threw his clarinet case to the side, praying it wouldn't slide on the mud back to the water of the swamp. Hacking away at the tall and flourishing grass, he soon saw the strands of unnatural hair color. He stopped for a moment and sighed, contemplating as to whether continue.

"You leave now, then, once I get out of here, I'm gonna make sure you never abandon a Flute ever again," Kristina was quick to say.

Sighing again, Jonathan finished the work he had started and pulled her from the mess.

Making their way up the sloppy hill, Jonathan fell while bending down to grab his case. Annoyance on her face, Kristina didn't bother to help him. However, instead of continuing, she waited for him to get back up.

Getting back to solid ground and regular grass, Jonathan immediately tossed his case to the side. It was old, usually coming unlatched, and had his nickname (PBJ) tapped to the side, so he made sure – despite his throwing – it landed properly.

Kristina, however, kept Rusty's case in her arms, almost as if cradling the case and instrument.

Gazing around, the two heard an owl coo.

"What the fuck?" Kristina asked. "It's broad day."

"It's Chelsea," Jonathan told her, heading towards the noise. "We used to use animal calls as a way to find each other and tell each other what was going on during the long battles. It means everyone's alright but she needs help with something."

The two headed over bushes and fallen trees, probably due to the fight that had ensued earlier. They found Chelsea squatting next to one fallen tree, content in some examination.

"Everything alright, Chels?" Jonathan asked upon approaching.

The usual grin and good-natured or quietly withdrawn attitude wasn't there. Worry had replaced it, though with obvious slight annoyance.

"It's Laura. She panicked during the fighting and got struck on the head by a falling branch," Chelsea told them, still looking at the wounded girl.

Jonathan rolled his eyes in frustration. "Great. Her memory was bad _enough_…"

Kristina's eyes blazed and she shot Jonathan the dirtiest look she could possibly muster.

It was then Jonathan noticed Mike, who was also bent down, inspecting Laura. He was far more involved in and concentrated that he had not noticed anything around him.

Feeling partially guilty, Jonathan asked, "She gonna be okay, Mike?"

He looked up at his name and just nodded before going back. "She's still breathing and has pulse. I'm hoping it's _just_ a bruise."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A fire burned lightly in the cold air of the night. The Flute, two Clarinets, and Tenor Saxophone sat around it, munching softly on what little bread and snacks they had taken from Keeremp-ierkay. They had nothing else to eat.

Laura lay off to the side, the rest waiting for her to wake.

"So, where's everyone's hometown?" Mike asked, disrupting the silence.

"Goldir," Kristina said, being the first to respond since she'd already explained this all before.

After a few seconds of silence, Mike spoke next, taking the responsibility since he had started the conversation. "I'm from Tenorinn. It's a small town in the Sax Mountains. We don't do much mining but we do some. There's kind of a joint government we have with the other surrounding Sax towns and cities, such as Saxzinire and Altrinion, along the base. I've served in the legislative and lent my time to studying the history of Saxophones."

Recognizing it was her turn, Chelsea said, "I lived near Ezgarnth. No specific town, really, but close to. It's basically why I was even there for the Battle of the Five Instruments – I lived in the area. Obviously, had I lived somewhere else, I would have been part of a different army."

"Wait," Kristina started, "does that mean Jon lived in Ezgarnth?"

Chelsea hesitated for a moment. "No…." she said slowly. "You didn't, did you, Jon?"

Jonathan finished the stroking of the fire he has been doing, tossing the branch then to the side. "No," he told them, scratching his left ear. "I don't really have a hometown. My parents moved from clarinet town to clarinet town and then I ran away and never really settled down. I really don't know anyone I've stuck with, other than Victoria and Chelsea. And Chelsea was mostly due to the fact we both had been in the same army for so long." He shrugged, taking another bite of his limited meal.

"And Laura?" someone asked. Mike laughed slightly. "I guess we'll just have to ask her when she wakes up."

A rustling from some trees immediately made Mike's hand travel to his sheath, Chelsea and Jonathan's to their blades, and Kristina's to her bow and arrows. They relaxed as soon as they saw it was Jeff.

"A Brass in a group of four Woodwinds?" Kristina questioned. "Get ready for Hell, kid."

Jonathan, who had befriended Jeff already, got up immediately and greeted him, leading him towards where he had been sitting with Mike and Chelsea. And their inquisitive glances, he just told them, "I'll tell you later."

Silence again settled amongst them. Suddenly, almost out of nowhere, Kristina asked, "And what of us?"

There were quick, questioning answers from all of them.

"What do we have left to do? We have no _clue_ where those two from the Nyre were taken and I doubt any of us here know how to find out. And we don't have the Valve Ring with us, so we have nothing to destroy. I mean, what are we gonna do? Go back home?"

None of them responded; none of them knew.

"I mean, we don't have any importance in the grand scheme of things anymore, do we?" she put out at last. Before any of them could contemplate it though, Laura made a soft noise in her sleep. They quickly turned towards her to see how she was doing, but she was still asleep.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The rider looked down at Emily with hesitation, almost. "Don't take it personally," he told her. "We are not allies with Miseri, yet we are not yet at open war with them. We do not trust travelers easily anymore. State your purpose!"

There was not much reaction from Strider, despite the pressing looks of doubt upon Victoria, Andrew, Michelle, and Emily. He sort of laughed, while making no noise. He then met his eyes evenly with the rider, never removing his smile.

"My only purpose is to recapture my friends that are pursued and taken. I serve no one. You ask my name?" He withdrew the Clarinet of Enders from where he had casually hid it beneath his cloak. It shone brightly, the writings and runes of the many hands that forged it – in a time when angst between instruments was near unheard of – being illuminated in the sunlight. "I am Mark son of Dave, and am called Vrekmelklot (Wÿè), the Grendstone, and the heir of Gildor Engeloth's son of Goldir. Here is the Clarinet that was Broken and is forged again. Will you aid me now?"

The other four viewed him slightly; rarely had they ever seen Strider attribute himself with his royal lineage.

The rider stepped back for a moment, awe upon his face. He lowered his eyes, the haughtiness of them gone.

"It is strange times, indeed, when legends and names of old spring from the grass like rabbits. My name is Aaromer. What brings you here? What dark news do you bring us?"

"Choice," Strider responded, no longer smiling but with little gloom upon his face. "You cannot stay with what you have always done – you either face Rowell or join him. There is no middle ground. The Orch-host we were pursuing – what can you tell us of them?"

"You need not pursue them longer," Aaromer told them. "We caught and killed them."

"And our friends?"

"We found none but Orchs." Aaromer glanced to his surrounding soldiers and ordered them to depart a bit away.

"I hope you feel we can speak more freely now, if you would," he told the five. "What is your story?"

"We set out from Rendellin many weeks ago. With us departed Barimir of Mithnel Goldrenad. He would have liked that I went to that city to aid his people in their war against Rowell. But my company, and my fellowship, had other plans. I can tell you of those later. Handal the Legato was out leader."

"Handal!" Aaromer exclaimed. "He is known in the Niddenmark, but he has fallen out of the king's favor. He is the memory of many coming and going is this land as he pleases. But they say now of ill events that he, supposedly brings.

"It was in the summer that much went amiss, then being when Handal visited us to tell us to abandon trust in Rowumell. We had been ready friends with Rowumell, but Handal told us that he brewed war in Miengard and that Handal himself had been captive there. He begged for help but the king had refused him. Probably in retaliation, Handal took Exigir, the most impressive and grand of the king's steeds, which only the Lord of the Mark may ride. Exigir returned but none can tame him now. Speak not Handal's name to the king – he is wroth."

It was here that Strider's cockiness faded. "Then he has no more worries. He fell into darkness in the Mines of Mornia."

Aaromer's face became grief stricken. "I take this harshly, though not all in these lands would. And what of Barimir?"

"He fell due to the very Orchs which you hunted."

Aaromer just nodded. "His brother will miss him," he added as an afterthought.

"At the moment, we worry about Rowumell," Aaromer continued. "He has declared his take on these lands and now we worry about a battle from the east, Rowell, and from the west, along the Gap, Rowumell. The Orchs we had pursued, upon overtaking them, more sprung from the forest, bearing a white Treble and Bass clef. They were stronger and sturdier than normal Orchs."

"And of your king?" Strider interrupted. "I've heard strange talk of him."

Aaromer's expression changed to one of thought. "Questionable," he stated. "A percussionist and yet claims to have blood in the royal linage."

"And his treatment of your people?"

"The Percussion are good-working and reliable people, when you need it. This one seems to have missed those traits and kept the others. His humor is of Percussion: crude," and Aaromer spat upon the ground.

Victoria smiled lightly and Andrew said, "Yes, but I could certainly say the same of some of the other Brass…"


	3. A Snatch of White In the Forest

**Quick word from the author:** So, I kinda owe everyone a bit of an apology and explanation for my too long absense. I had written a few chapters after the last one I had posted on here. Unfortunately, the following chapter (25) got lost, which delayed me uploading anything. Then I got sideswiped by the beginning of college and got extremely busy. For those outside of fanfiction who read this story, it got stale and old and there seemed like less and less of a reason to finish it.

However, that wasn't fair to you on here. While it's still a rediculously long lag inbetween updates (not to mention it's not like I had the greatest following on here to begin with), there may be some of you who were interested in the story and wanted to see it follow through. Admittedly, there's a lot of themes and plot devices I still had planned and had halfway worked out through the story thus far.

So, in the event that you really liked the story, I'm going to try to finish it. Uploading may not be as good as I used to do it, and I'm like to get busy. But I'm going to try to finish this, finish developing the characters, and finish laying out the story I started here. I'll have to catch myself up again with the geography and history I had laid out, but I'll certainly try my best.

So, my apology and promise made, I need to end this with a note - I was never able to find chapter 25, it's still missing. So, I don't remember what happened nor do I know how that may impact the story. Chapter 26 doesn't seem to through too much off track (it starts with what happened to Melissa and Henry after they were captured by the Orchs and continues the story of Laura, Kristi, Mike, and company as was started in chapter 24). So, hopefully, not much was lost. Enjoy.

**Chapter 26**  
**A Snatch of White In the Forest**

I'm not the kind of person  
You think I am  
I'm not the Antichrist or  
The Iron Man  
I've got a vision that I  
Just can't control  
I feel I've lost my spirit  
And sold my soul  
-Ozzy Osbourne

"And who are you to command _us_?" the hissing voice came back again.

"Dare you to test my strength? Come now, worm, I dare you," the looming figure threatened. "Enough of this rabble. We have a long way to go. Grab those prisoners and carry them. I'll take the small one."

The next thing that Henry knew, he was roughly hoisted under someone's arm of huge stature and being carried brusquely at a running pace. If there was anything he would always remember from that moment, it would not be the pain of having his rib cage smashed over and over again into the forearm and rib cage of the orch and it wouldn't be the sweltering heat from that particular night or the orch carrying him.

It would be the stench that Henry would carry with him (quite literally) for much longer after that night. He found it ended up preoccupying much of any other thought he might have pondered, such as getting away. What made it all the more terrible was that he had no diversion. He could see little and he struggled just to keep down his stomach between the bad smell and the constant lurching in the orch's movement. He thought with envy that Melissa was unconscious through all of this.

In another surprised turn of events, he was hurtled to the ground quite roughly. He started to wonder how these orchs possibly had interpreted the command to deliver him and Melissa unharmed.

"I grow tired of carrying you," the orch spat to Henry as he yanked Henry back up to his feet by the back of his shirt. "You two shall run now." Henry happened to notice that some lump (which he assumed was Melissa) was still lying on the ground. His stomach became uneasy and did a flip at this continued lack of consciousness from her.

"The female has a cut!" one of the orchs shouted with a wheezy laugh.

"Then patch her up!" he heard the coarse and huge orch shout back, bellowing across the field they stood on. "And stop looking at her like that. They aren't a meal, but baggage." Henry was knocked over at this point, so he missed what seemed to be a sexual joke that came after. His stomach flipped again from the crassness with which they talked.

"Blasted, bastard swine! What are you doing on the floor?" An orch had spotted Henry, though he hadn't bothered to move anyway. This time, both his hair and shirt were grabbed as he was hoisted upward. "Rowumell may not want you harmed, but there're parts of you which I'm sure will go unnoticed missing," the orch sneered in his face. For a moment, it seemed he was about to lick Henry. Then, thinking better of it, he kicked Henry in the back of the knees. "Stand up, swine!" he shouted again.

A girl screamed then, which could only be attributed to one person. "She's trying to be stoic!" they shouted in mocking glee. Henry had to assume that was true; he didn't hear anywhere near as much emotion or display f obvious pain from Melissa the rest of that night.

"Why so sullen, –" an orch asked, finishing his question in his own language. "Give us a smile."

"Don't be so selfish," another orch's vocal cords scrabbled out. "Speak not in your own tongue, but the Common. We wanna hear the beautiful names, too."

"Enough!" the leader bellowed. "Her head's stopped bleeding. Let's keep going. March them!"

Henry felt himself pushed forward and started running, more so than marching, across the field. He would have preferred marching. He would at least know when to stop and when to start and sight would have been less of a requirement. As it was, he found himself tossed from side to side often as he ran into the shapes around him. It all looked the same in that dark of night and with the amount of bodies surrounding him. Plus, the running wasn't consistent. Sporadically, the group would stop and stand there for a period of time. Then, just as sporadically, they'd start again, kicking him when he didn't know to start moving once more.

"Hold it, rats!" the leader let out after a time, halting abruptly and holding his arm out. Henry hadn't known he was so close to him (Henry had slowly moved towards the front of the group as they ran, unknown to him). Instead of just clotheslining the orchs to the right and left of him, he forcibly threw them down.

"Get some firewood and start a fire. Set camp! We rest here, tonight."

Henry felt himself hoisted and thrown to the side, somewhere. He heard an audible thump and release of air to the side of him. He turned, best he could, to face her. While still hard to see, she looked a mess. Some grayish, green gunk had been smeared along her forehead, getting caught in her hair in the process. As for her facial expression, he couldn't see.

"Melissa?" he coughed out; the orchs had given them little water, so his through was parched.

"Yeah?" she asked, almost calmly. He was surprised by the quickness of her reply. It seemed she was lying down, facing upward, with her hands behind her head.

"You okay?"

"Just fine," she lied.

It didn't take long for it to click for him. "Don't let them see you cave?" he asked.

He didn't even have to see to know she was smirking then. "Exactly," she told him after a deep exhale.

Henry tried to look up as well, but there was little point to it. Smoke was starting to build in the air to aid his poor eyesight. It slightly stung as a red glow was building. "What're you looking at?" he asked her.

"The sky." She sighed. "It's something I used to do when I got bored in the Nyre. Before I met you or Mark or Melissa, I spent a lot of time on my own. So I'd just spend the time thinking, kinda dreaming, by myself." He could hear her smirk to herself. "The things you can think of in your own time. It passes the time well." She sighed again. "Imagination is sometimes so much better than reality."

But reality was insistent. Hands dove onto Henry in the next second, digging through his clothing. The voice was muttering frantically as the hands searched. Henry then realized it was the same voice that had challenged the leader about heading back to Miengard, after the orchs from the Mines.

"You'll never find it, at that rate," Melissa said, interrupting Henry's thoughts. The orch stopped. He then dove towards Melissa, grabbing her by the throat to hoist her up.

"Find _what_, might I ask?" he whined menacingly in her face. She visually moved her head away from him, making an obvious facial expression that his breath was unbearable. However, her heart gave her away.

The orch placed one finger where her heart would be, delighting immensely at the look of discomfort that came upon her. "Someone's nervous, it seems," he slithered, drunk with the moment.

"And if I am?" she asked back, the confidence in her voice not giving way. "You'll still never find it. They'll find you and rip you from limb to limb first."

A scowl replaced the orch's joy. "I'll rip you first and enjoy every delight the flesh has to offer, if I have to find it," he snapped.

"Then I hope you'll enjoy your coming death," she responded back, not meeting his gaze.

His grip tightened around her throat, yet she didn't yield to him. He dropped her and grasped Henry by the cheeks. Licking his teeth frantically, he asked, "You need your glasses, right? Can't see without your stupid lenses. Where is it? Tell me and I'll give you them back."

"I don't think you're in a position to be setting terms," Melissa said, still coughing from the orch's previous grip.

The orch tried to slap her but she moved beforehand. Immediately angered, Henry bit into the other hand near his face as hard as he could. The orch howled in pain before forcing himself to stop for fear of detection.

Grabbing the two, he took off while grasping them by their hair, screeching under his breath in his own language. When he finally stopped, right before the forest, his breathing had become extremely labored and he was wheezing heavily.

"Now – what Rowumell wants – give it to _me_!" He stood up to tower over them, but to his own undoing. A spear pierced his back and he fell to his knees, blood coming out from his mouth. The pounding of horses' hooves filled the area. Melissa wrestled a knife out from beneath the fallen orch and cut the ropes binding herself and Henry. Henry then searched through the orch's clothing and found his glasses. Without looking back, the two took off into the woods.

XXX

Chelsea, Jeff, Jonathan, and Mike sat off to the side. Kristina was busy watching over Laura. She still had yet to regain consciousness.

Jonathan was scribbling in his notebook again, stopping every once in a while to think.

Mike was looking over his Saxophone. In the hurried attempt to escape the orchs, his case had been dragged and trudged over the ground, mud, and nearly through water. He looked over the pads, making sure they were still dry. He then inspected his reed.

He muttered something under his breath. "Everything alright?" Chelsea asked him, glancing around the area as she talked.

"My reed," Mike told her. "It bent and I only had one left."

"That's the benefit of not having reeds," Kristina said under her breath, so that the others couldn't hear her.

Chelsea glanced towards Jonathan. "What do you always write about in there?" she asked him at length.

He didn't look up. "In here? In this notebook, generally, lyrics, but that's not all I write about on a daily basis."

"What do you normally write about?"

He shrugged. "I dunno. Things that concern me, I guess."

Chelsea laughed. "Well, then, where do you get your inspiration?"

He gave a slight smile as he continued to write. "Generally from life experiences, people I know."

"Wouldn't that make things difficult to write? You know, you wouldn't paint someone you know in a bad light," Mike said.

"Well, there is creative liberty. And people aren't perfect. I'd actually find it more an insult to say I am. Besides, the ends ought to be a statement of what you believe, in my opinion. Therefore, what ought to be should be the climax." He wrote something else down and looked it over. "Besides, I don't know anyone who's weak or not admirable."

"Guys, come here," Kristina shouted over to them, interrupting the conversation. "Laura's waking."

The four got up from where they were sitting and went over to observe Laura. Slowly, she was opening her eyes. She groaned. "My head," she muttered groggily, putting a hand to it.

"You got hit on the head by a tree branch," Chelsea told her. "You've been out for…well, a while."

With some effort, Laura propped herself up. "We need to keep moving," Kristina reminded them.

"But my hea-" Laura started to protest, clutching herself with more strength at the expense for her emotion.

"We don't have much choice," Jonathan cut her off, rising and putting the notebook in his clarinet case.

XXX

"And now we're lost," Kristina muttered, gazing around. "De we even know which direction we _want_ to head?" she asked the rest of the group.

They all kind of looked sheepishly away. "Let's head this way," Laura voiced suddenly.

"Do we have a reason why?" Chelsea asked her, following after and dodging stray branches.

"Do you have a better course?" Laura asked back.

Laura led the way as they headed through the forest. As the group continued on, the branches grew thicker above them and the light was slowly blocked out.

"Laura, maybe we ought to head in a different direction?" Mike asked.

"Too late for that now; we're thoroughly lost," Chelsea responded.

Before another comment could be put in, Laura fell from sight into some tall grass. Mike and Kristina rushed forward, trying to make sure she was okay.

A look of smiling embarrassment was upon her face. "Yes…I'm okay," she said as she struggled up. She noted it was a good thing she had decided to wear her black A. F. I. shirt, all stains that were possible considered.

When she was finally standing again, she looked around. "What tripped me?" she asked aloud, though to herself more than anyone else.

"Probably a branch or a log," Chelsea told her. But Laura was already digging through the grass again, searching for her balance assassin. She ripped out a few pieces of grass and looked down at a seal.

"Well, there's something you don't see everyday," she muttered to herself.

"What is it?" Jonathan asked.

"I dunno," Kristina replied.

"We need to keep moving," Chelsea told them, watching the branches of the trees. Recognizing Chelsea's habit, Jonathan immediately rose as well.

"Chels is right," he told the rest of the group. She had an uncanny ability to sense danger before it came.

Before any of them could move though, as if to fulfill some premonition, a twig snapped somewhere near them. In the next second, knives, bows and arrows, and sword were pulled into view.

A soft snickering seemed to echo through the woods. Backs to each other, the group slowly circled, unsure of what, or how many, they were facing.

The unnaturally quick patter of feet caused them to freeze for a moment. Barely any sunlight could force its way out of the twisted branches above them. They mentally cursed themselves for going this far into the forest.

"Is it orchs that trespass of territory of the royal family of the Grendvall," a voice barked from what seemed like everywhere.

And then it, whatever it was, rushed the group, so that they fell cold and still. And in the next second, it was gone.

Silence, as if nothing were ever disturbed. And then, it seemed, that the trees seemed to part, making a path for them to follow. And more light entered into the previous darkness.

XXX

Strider awoke and put out the smoldering ashes. He saw, near the forest, that Emily was inspecting the area.

"Do you see anything?" he asked her as he approached. She stood up, her red hair glinting in sunlight. He laughed, the first time in many days. "We may have to cover that hair of yours; it might tip some orchs off as to our location."

Emily laughed as well. "It would be their undoing, lest cleaved heads is something they enjoy." She dusted some dirt off of her pants. "It's possible they headed in here. Henry and Melissa, that is. There seems to be a few set of feet that went in, so I doubt it a majority of orchs."

"Orchs wouldn't be so stupid as to enter the forest," Strider told her. "Let's head in."

The forest was thick and well-grown. While they tried to avoid it, they found themselves often too big to squeeze past anything without breaking branches and destroying some plant of some kind.

After a while, they found a small pond. "Of all things, imagine," Michelle muttered towards the body of water.

They all drank from it and decided to rest there. As they were resting, Andrew noticed a spot of white behind a tree trunk. He got up, though not without his hammer.

"Who are you?" he shouted, though he made no advancement. Andrew had said once, in some conversation, that his face was more suited to comedy than really anything serious, yet it was very difficult to not take serious a person holding a hammer that could crush your head to pulp.

The figure walked forward and they noticed a graying beard upon the face.

"Rowumell!" Michelle exclaimed and immediately an arrow was sent forth. It was easily deflected and the other weapons burned in their owner's hands so that they had to drop them.

"Who are you?" Strider asked.


	4. The King of the Mark

**Chapter 27**  
**The King of the Mark**

And now I got a head full of better off dead  
I followed down them steps and slept in the wrong bed  
If I had a breath of self-respect left  
I'd set fire to the bedspring to help it catch wreck  
Let these ashes represent the mattress  
Director left the set but nobody told the actress  
So she's still actin' as if we scheduled a practice  
And my soundtrack is compromisin' her theatrics  
-Atmosphere

A candle waved by the window as three shadows ran across the floor. It was one of many candles put up in the room. A younger Henry, Mark, and Marisa were running around the floor, laughing and playing some form of a game. Marisa and Mark were eleven and Henry was ten.

Nick was watching from his seat, keeping an eye on them. It was almost comical, thinking of Nick as a parent, for he wasn't much older than the rest of them. That he won custody at all was a miracle in itself. But there hadn't been any other relative that had wanted the then young Marisa and so custody was given to Nick. Luckily, by the time he had received Marisa, he was of a reasonable age to take her; she hadn't been the infant anymore that she was at the time of Chriso's death.

It might have explained why Marisa and Nick's relationship resembled that of siblings far more than it ever had of uncle and niece. And probably better that way; with the antics that Nick was often to pull, it made no sense as to why he ever had the right to put any restrictions on her. So he played the roll of the overprotective brother and she accepted this. It worked, oddly enough, and there was never any dispute that it was Nick who did raise her, while never raising himself.

But even in the beginning, Handal (a long friend of the Ikons and closer friend of Nick's after he sent Nick out on his adventure with the Brass) knew better than to blindly trust Nick, as responsible as he still seemed to manage with Marisa. And so he sat there, in his own chair, watching the three play and the forth one watch.

"Handal, you really needn't have spent the night, you know," Nick told the wizard from where he was sitting. "I could've watched them on my own."

Handal smiled softly, knowing that Henry's parents would have never let him attend these if it had been only Nick supervising. "I'm glad for your confidence, Nick Ikon, but I wish my own could only match it," he responded, a glint of humor in his eye.

Nick laughed and told him, "And you think this whole thing isn't odd? An old man watching three kids? I should be the one keeping my eye on you."

Handal smiled further. "_Three_ kids? Don't count yourself so old quite yet."

Nick rolled his eyes and returned them to the other three. Handal watched them as well. Even then, he could tell there would be one more. Why, he could never remember. Just at that moment, he knew.

Mark came running up to Handal at that moment, panting. "She's trying to hump me, Handal! I swear!"

Handal laughed, as did Nick. "You're passing up the opportunity?" the curly, blond haired boy asked from his seat.

Handal simply lifted Mark onto his lap. A thought crossed Mark's mind. "Could you tell us a story again?" he asked as the other two approached as well. Mark always wanted to hear old stories and he somehow managed to seem even younger than he was when asking about or listening to them.

"Sure," Handal responded. But before the wizard could start with a story, Mark was asking questions.

"Do you think those stories could ever happen again? You know, in our lifetime?" was one of the many questions discernable in his stream of speech.

And Handal's face clouded over, his mind thrown into thought. The others fell quiet. "Yes," he murmured slowly. "It's possible." He smiled to the young Mark, saying, "One would hope not, but who is ever to know these things? Not I, my dear Flute, not I."

"Well, with my good looks –" Mark started, pointing out his chest in a fashion that Andrew (had he known Mark then) might've admired.

Handal started to chuckle merrily, cutting Mark off. "Do you really think that will count for anything?" he asked, still merry, completely missing that Mark had been making a joke. "They were dark times, Mr. Siermon, very dark times. And it was not looks or being well-liked that got anyone anywhere. You can only count on those worth trusting, in those times – no one else. And those worth trusting were those pure of heart, noble and honest, and those with will and energy that was put up for sacrifice to reach their goals." Handal shifted the then perplexed Mark on his lap, Mark's green eyes flashing with wonder from the candlelight as he gazed upon the wizard's face.

"I laugh, so many times, when I see what people value now. They would not have served them well, then. Only those who were devoted and saw a person by their character, rather than by anything else – they were the ones who led our armies, and our world, out of ruin. Only a group who trusts and counts on each other can possibly hope to achieve what those men and women of old achieved."

XXX

"Handal?" Strider said softly, as if the figure in white might attack with fury once again, if provoked.

A bit of clearness and kindness returned to the then steely gray of the man's eyes. "They used to call me that," he murmured, trailing off in thought. The tips of his lips upturned. "Yes…Handal the Legato."

He looked at them all and spoke words with calm assurance: "I am Handal the Composer, now. It is appointed to a wizard of the Council of Wizards who has a mission to play in something big. And, my friends, as you all know, we now face something quite looming."

Not waiting for a response from fthe others, Handal took off in a direction of the forest. "Handal!" Strider called out, getting more and more perplexed. "Do you even know where you are going?"

Not turning behind him, Handal simply responded, "I know this forest like the back of my hand." As he continued, more and more sunlight poured in. At last, he entered out onto the plains again. With two fingers, he let out a sharp whistle. The other five looked about, unsure of what to expect. And then, over one of the hills, came up an all white horse, charging over the fields. Michelle, who had dealt with horses, was impressed. "Exigir is his name," Handal told them. "Leader of the horses of the Mark." He chuckled. "I 'borrowed' him from King Prince of Norr-on as a way to wake him back up to what was going on around him. I doubt it left the impression I hoped for."

XXX

"Oh, work, why don't you?" Chelsea muttered, beating lightly the backside of her iPod. She rubbed it harder to see if the battery would come to life.

It was drizzling softly. A makeshift tent had been propped up, though very few went beneath it. Most sat out in the rain, with or without something over their head.

Chelsea rubbed the back of her iPod harder. "Don't leave me bored, now," she said once more.

To her right, Laura sat as well, listening to her own iPod. Over the sound of her own music and the hiss of the rain, she hadn't noticed that Chelsea seemed to be facing the conflict of man versus technology. After a final, irritated sigh, Laura happened to glance over. She saw Chelsea tuck her iPod away and gaze out gloomily into the rain.

Hesitating for a moment, she got up and walked over to the Bass Clarinet (and should-have-been drum major). "Wanna listen?" she asked, indicating her iPod.

Hesitating as well, Chelsea glanced at the iPod several times. "Yeah," she told the Flute.

Laura sat down on the log next to Chelsea and offered her an earphone. "What do you want to listen to?" Laura asked, swimming through her artists list.

"How about that?" Chelsea asked, pointing to A. F. I.

XXX

In bursts of speed and rushes of air, the six pelted by horseback upon the fields. "Tell us," Strider shouted as they kept onward, "of what you know. Are Melissa and Henry alright?"

Handal didn't respond for a moment, keeping his eyes on the plains. Every so often, it seemed, he had to rear Exigir back, so that he didn't gain such a length ahead of them due to his speed.

"The Nyre-dwellers are fine. I cannot sense _where_ they are, in a sense that anyone of us would like, but I can sense them. That is always a good sign. They are alive and well. They are somewhere in the forest that we left, or near its proximity. And they shall be the stones to start the avalanche, be certain. Ah, may Rowumell not walk far from home!"

Strider gave the wizard a glance of recognition. "You still speak in riddles, my friend."

Handal seemed to be woken then. "Riddles? I was talking to myself. Foolish, I suppose, given you had asked a question. Forgive me, Sire Brask. Yes, now, and what were we talking about?" Before Strider could respond, Handal exclaimed, "Yes! That was it. Well, the best way to address that is to address Rowell.

"You see, by now, he knows of us. Undoubtedly, he knows of us – our number and the instruments we carry with us. However, thanks be alive, he knows not our purpose. He assumes, for it is the most logical next move by his reckoning, that we will head to Mithnel Goldrenad. And this would, indeed, be a great blow to his power. However, he has this notion that, at some point, a great adversary will emerge with his ring to challenge and wage open war with him. This is his great fear." Handal laughed as he checked Exigir's main and neck as they rode, patting him roughing. The wizard rode with no saddle; that Exigir had been tamed by someone outside the royal line of Norr-on was pushing luck enough.

"But Rowell is foolish. That no one seeks to dethrone him in open war never has crossed his mind. In fact, he is bent on believing that we wish to replace him after removing him from power. That we wish for his position to be vacant for as long as time will allow us in this world is an unconceivable notion for him.

"This, of course, works for us. By believing that war will be set, he has let loose his armies instead of keeping them within Miseri. Now, Marisa has a chance of penetrating those lands. However, I fear, Mithnel Goldrenad will suffer blows in the coming storm.

"All the while, Rowumell does not realize the danger he faces. For, he has joined the lines of Rowell; a traitor, indeed. And so he does not realize, for he seeks the Valve, as do many these days. He did not know what his orchs carried. And he wondered and worried. Being so, he followed to watch and spy, but he arrived too late. What he found scared him. His mind is constantly on the Valve Ring, so that his first thought at the view of his army's demise was that Prince, Lord of the Mark, may find it and learn of its power. So, he tears back to Miengard to double and triple his assault on Norr-on. The fool. All the time, there is another danger close at hand. He has forgotten Eddie."

Andrew rode up to them at this point. "Less talk; more sex!" he barked in his quasi-serious way.

Strider smiled. "I like this kid." He then turned his attention back to Handal. "You speak to yourself, again. I do not know of Eddie."

"In time!" the wizard protested. "In time. We come now to the gates." They hadn't measured the distance they had traveled and their only means of knowing was the weariness and refusal to bend that their bodies told them. They dismounted and viewed the city with its walls of metal.

"Aaromer spoke right when he questioned a percussion king upon a Brass throne," Emily said, gazing at the doors.

Handal turned his attention to them. "I ask you all, in the greatest tone of direness that my chords can provide, do not speak words that may endanger us. The mind of the king is ill and poisoned by a spy of Rowumell. He is wroth and is already disgruntled with let alone my name, forget my presence. Rowumell knows what I can do. Let me lead."

"Have we ever done otherwise?" Victoria asked him knowingly. He gave her a soft nod as he turned to the gates.

"What's that read?" Michelle asked, indicating writing upon the doors.

"It's in Tongue of French horn," Emily told them. "A poem. It talks of Gary Ergoff, one known well in Norr-on legend. He was a great horse rider and an excellent player, excelling in pitch, range, and articulation. 'May his melodies forever transcend the scales in our hearts'. So they still say in the evening."

It was then that they were besieged by guards. "Who are you and what is your purpose?" they asked in their own Tongue in wonderment, but obvious alarm.

"Why do you talk in such a Tongue? I can speak it but still I ask: why do you not talk in the Common, as is custom of the West?"

The men glanced wearily amongst each other. "It was ordered upon us that we talk in this Tongue and that none who could not speak it could enter, lest they be men of Goldir."  
Strider glanced upon them as well. "Did not Aaromer, the Third Marshal of the Mark, give news of our coming? We met him on our way." He made an obscene motion to one of the guards while the others weren't watching, unsettling the guard.

"If that be so," one of the guards responded, "then I'm sure your coming must've been known. It was only two nights ago that Skewervalve came to us and gave us these orders by charge of King Prince."

"Skewervalve?" Handal asked immediately, looking hard at the guard. "Say no more! Our errand is not to Skewervalve, but to the Lord of the Mark himself. I am in haste."

The guards seemed to hesitate. "And who are we to say has come?" one finally asked. "And what to say of you? You seem tired yet there is fight reserved yet in you."

"Well do you observe," Handal told him. "I am Handal, newly now Handal the Composer. I have returned. Here beside me is Mark son of Dave, the heir of Kings. Here also fis Andrew the Alto Saxophone, Emily the French horn, Victoria the Bass Clarinet, and Michelle the Flute, our comrades. Tell Prince that these await him and that we seek speech with him. May he not turn us away."

"Strange names you give," the guard told him. "It shall be done. We shall see what the King of the Mark shall say."

After the guard had left, Handal murmured, "Not the King, no, if Skewervalve stalks within those halls."

The guard soon returned. "Follow me," he told them. Prince gives you leave to enter, but any weapon that you bear, be it only a staff, you must leave on the threshold. The doorwardens will keep them."

As they approached the doors to the hall, the doorwardens asked, as was expected. Emily gave her axe, Andrew his hammer, Michelle her bow and arrows, and Victoria her sword. Handal handed his own over, as well. As Strider gave over his clarinet (much to the surprise of the doorwarden), he told the man, "I command you not to touch it, nor to permit any other to lay hand on it. It is the Clarinet that was Broken and has been made again. Nekclar first wrought it in the deeps of time. If you care for the safety of your world, have none touch it, for its loss will carry a far worse fate than wrath."

As they tried to proceed, the guard kept them still. "You're staff," he said, motioning to Handal.

Handal sighed. "Prudence is one thing but inhospitality is quite another. If I have nothing upon which to lean, I say, Prince will have to see me out here, than in his hall."

Strider laughed. "Would you part this man from his support? You _don't_ want to know where it's been. Come now, let us enter."

The guard looked them over. "In the hand of a wizard, a staff may be more than just a walking stick. But I trust you, as a group, to bear no evil. You do not seem offending. I shall let King Prince deal with me if otherwise."

The group entered the hall. It was dark. At the end of it sat a golden chair. And in that throne sat the king. He was of Indian decent and seemed shriveled as he sat there. He had grown a beard and seemed far older than he ever should have been at this point. His beard, which reached down to his lap and almost seemed to flow, was a pearly white. He seemed to strain to keep his eyes open, as if the task of staying awake was near to impossible.

Behind the king stood a young woman, dressed in white. At the feet of the king, upon steps that led to the thrown, sat a man, a short, black walking stick of his own by his side adorned at the top with a white stone carved in the shape of a viola.

Handal strode forward, exclaiming, "Hail, King Prince of the Mark! I have returned. A storm comes and friends should hark to each other in these times of need, lest they all fall to ruin."

The man at the king's feet rose. In his youth, he may have been tall. Now, he required the walking stick's use.

"I greet you," he said simply, acknowledging the wizard as one does the ground, "and maybe you look for welcome. However, Master Handal, you may not find it here. You have only brought woe to these halls and left unending stress upon the poor king's head. Our sire tires of your voice, if you really must know. When I had heard that Exigir had returned, I rejoiced, I must confess. Without rider only added to my joy. And yet you had left your mark – he could not be re-tamed, so that we had to let him go. And found him again, it seems you did. So when Aaromer brought news of your death, I thought at last our people have seen peace. But it seems I was wrong yet again." He seemed to let those last to words drop off his tongue slower than the rest of his speech. The disdain and contempt carried easily to fill the entire hall.

"Here you come again! And with more ill news. Oh, spare us the garble, could you surprise us just – this –_ once_?" Handal gazed at the mocking face and gave no emotion to reward the man's wordplay. After a bit of silence, the man sighed and turned brusquely away.

As he neared the thrown of the king, a hand, fragile as it was, reached out to stop him. Fixing his eyes on Handal, the king asked slowly, "And why should I welcome you, Handal…Stormcrow…?"

The other man learned near the ear of the king and said, "You speak justly, lord." Straightening as best he could, the man made his way back down the short steps, his cane clicking on the stone floor. "It is not five days that tidings came that your right-hand, Second Marshall of the Mark, was slain on the West Marshes. We welcome no more tidings such as these. We know what awaits us. Precautions have been made.

"You wish to aid us? Horses, swords, men! This would have been aid. Instead you show up with five companions in tatters, and you yourself the most beggar-like of the six!"

Handal looked upon Skewervalve, amused, and the man seemed to shrink back upon his stick. "It seems that much in your halls have changed in these days of late; no longer are they lighted and permit a warmth to greet the stranger. Have your messengers not given their names. The lands of Norr-on have not received guests like these in many ages. These passed through Keeremp-ierkay; their garments still last only because they were received in that ancient land."

"So you alley with that evil land?" Skewervalve slithered. "Ah, I knew better than to trust where you tread."

Emily started her way forward, but was held back gently by Handal. He smiled at her lightly, then faced the thrown once more.

Handal uplifted his staff and took a step forward. His robes seemed to shine brighter as the fires within the hall dimmed, casting away what little light was in those halls.

"You are a fool, Skewervalve! I have not passed through fire and death to bandy crooked words with the likes of you!"

The wizard raised his staff higher, yet again. In the gloom, they heard the hiss of Skewervalve's voice: "Did I not counsel you, lord, to forbid his staff? That fool, the doorwarden, has betrayed us!"

There was a stunning flash, and then silence. Skewervalve sprawled on his face.


	5. The Trailing

**Chapter 28**  
**The Trailing**

Promise if I have a seed, I'ma guide him right  
Dear Lord, don't let me die tonight  
I got words for my comrades, listen and learn:  
Ain't nothin' free; give back what you earn  
No doubt  
Getting higher than a motherfucker,  
Bless me, please  
This Thug Life'll be the death of me  
Come on…

And I remember what my papa told me  
Remember what my papa told me:  
_Blasphemy  
_-2Pac

A silence carried through the forest. Just the sounds of birds were heard through the peaceful morning. The sun sprinkled its gentle beams down through the canopy.

And then a loud noise rang through the air.

"Oh, _geez_, Tommy! Did you fart _again_?" Laila asked in desperation, trying to scoot away from the culprit.

Tommy, in turn, laughed and asked, "What do you expect? Where do you want me to do it?"

"Away from us," Rebecca Tauber responded, taking a blanket the group had taken with them and swinging it down on Tommy.

Still laughing, the percussionist got up and moved slightly away, leaning against a tree.

Monica groaned loudly. "Shut up!" she shouted into the ground and blankets she was laying on. She turned over, completely and obviously tired.

"Keep it down, guys. Monica's still trying to sleep," the Flute they had picked up in Keeremp-ierkay told the others.

Monica looked up from where she lay to see Kyrstin; the Bass Clarinet and Color Guard gave her a slightly mocking smirk; Monica simply buried her head into the blankets again.

Mallika, on the other hand, tried to force herself up. Usually relatively upbeat, like any other sane person, she found it hard to maintain that at the way early hours of the morning. "What're we doing?" she asked the rest of the group, looking around in an almost comical, bewildered fashion.

"Dying, thanks to Tommy," Rebecca responded, getting up and moving away, as Tommy had.

Tommy, of course, just found the situation hilarious.

Kyrstin, watching the dysfunction and confusion, viewed them all with the air of one who was in a position of advantage. Dressed in her usual trench coat, her appearance fit the mood. "We ought to keep moving,' she told them. "I found a nearby city; shall we go there and plot our next course, or shall figure out our final destination now?"

XXX

Of all the groups, this was probably the most cohesive. The other two groups were not so large and had drastically opposing instruments comprised of them. Even if the French horns were the friendlier of their kind, Emily was still a Brass in an all Woodwind group. And Michelle was still a Flute dealing with two Clarinets and the friend of a Clari.

The second group was all Woodwind, yet comprised major-ly of Flutes and Clarinets. Working together was something they would have to work on.

This group was nearly all Woodwind, except for two, and incredibly Clarinet heavy. The odd men out were Tommy and Rebecca, naturally; Tommy played percussion and Rebecca was Color Guard. Even still, Rebecca was close friends with Mallika and Kyrstin was Color Guard as well as Bass Clarinet. She would find no problem fitting in.

A percussion player, by nature, is a bit of an anomaly. They can be quite hard working. It is, after all, no easy feat learning all the instruments that they are required to. While the normal player worries about one instrument, a percussionist worries about many. And to say that all never take pride in their work would be heinously incorrect. No, the percussionist actually has the reputation for doing well (God help them if they didn't: they hold the beat of the Band, for crying out loud). Besides, you try carrying a quad or bass drum and march with it for an extended period of time.

This makes the percussionists all the more odd and confusing. For a percussionist also has an amazingly accurate habit of being fantastically crude. They also are quite loud and rowdy. It would not be out of place for a percussionist to brag about how much sex they have had or who they had it with, to be a (very loud) class clown in public, to make prank calls with their friends, or to flash their chest (generally, though, for guys) at another band carriage while on a band trip, only to duck down after realizing that their band director was on that carriage. Now this, of course, can vary. As with all instruments, their attributes varied in intensity and otherwise from person to person. Yet, while this doesn't apply to all percussionists, to Tommy it most certainly did.

XXX

"Doesn't look foreboding at all," Mallika commented, gazing up at the towering walls of the city they were to soon enter.

"Um, how do we get in?" Laila asked, scratching the curly hair on her head. It had been hastily tied back, given the little time they had. They hadn't been sure if all the Orchs were really gone.

The group couldn't have known (they were lost far more than any of them would've admitted) that they were in front of a Norirrim city on the very outskirts of Norr-on. For that reason, the city was huge. While it would have displeased the inhabitants to have known, the group would soon find that it was constructed in the same multi-level fashion as Keeremp-ierkay.

A slit in the massive doors was pulled back and two eyes peered through it. "What do you want?" a voice seemed to snarl, though there was as much fear in the voice as in the group.

"To enter," Laila stated simply. Rebecca quickly came forward.

"We need a place to stay," she explained. "We were ambushed by orchs earlier and have been separated from most of our party."

The eyes seemed to look her over skeptically. "What instruments do you play?" it asked next.

Pointing to each player, Rebecca labeled off the list: "Percussion, Clarinet, Flute, Clarinet, Clarinet, Bass Clarinet and Color Guard, and I'm also Color Guard."

The eyes seemed to look at Rebecca warily and the voice stated contemptuously, "I asked what _instruments_ you played." The slit then slammed shut.

Subsequently, the doors began to creak slowly open. Rebecca simply cast a questioning look to her companions. She then slowly led them into the French horn city.

XXX

"Oh, for crying out loud, we're never going to find a place to stay," Tommy groaned, letting himself sort of fall to the ground to sit down.

"We're all tired, Tommy," Laila told him.

"How is it that we can't seem to find a single open or not entirely booked hotel here? This place is enormous, after all," Mallika was next to complain. Typically, Mallika seemed to get more hyper the more tired she got. It was something of a problem for her and her sister, considering that the sibling got grumpier as she became tired. However, straight walking for an entire day left nothing but fatigue for Mallika.

"How about the fact that five sevenths of this group is Woodwind in an entirely Brass city?" Monica asked, tired as well. As she sat down, she noticed that the Fluten girl sat next to her.

"That wouldn't be the problem, would it?" Kyrstin asked. She had come from Cree: the idea of instrument prejudice was new to her.

"Not the main one, I think," Rebecca answered. "They don't seem to take too kind of an eye to our flags." She rolled the pole of her flag between her hands. She sighed. "We better keep moving. The last thing we want is to have to spend the night on the streets."

XXX

"No, no – Rebecca, this is crazy," Mallika tried to protest.

"Would you rather sleep outside? Look at the sky; it's nearly dusk," Rebecca countered.

"Would you rather sleep in _there_? It's not a hotel – it's a lowlife bar that decided to rent out rooms!" The group found themselves in an alleyway. Above them stretched the second level. On either side of them were the back of houses and the rare front of a store facing them. Very little light found its way in, given the "roof" of the second level was above them.

The building they now found themselves in front of could barely be considered still standing. Parts of the wall had fallen out. It seemed an odd mix of brick and dried clay, as well. The wooden beams of the floors of the building were sticking out of the wall as well.

Tommy eyed the building warily as well. "Mallika has a point," he started.

Rebecca sighed. "It's your guys' choice. I, however, would prefer a roof over my head."

The final decision was made when Monica headed into the building. Naturally, everyone else soon followed.

Almost hesitantly, the group trailed Rebecca as she headed to the bartender. As they approach, some ruckus went up; it sounded as if a table had broken, along with shouts of anguish and excitement. The bartender quickly barked something in Brassish towards the disruption, then he returned his attention to the band members.

"We'd like some rooms, please," Rebecca told him.

The bartender glanced towards the flags and clarinet cases they were holding. "We don't cater to your kind," he responded simply.

Rebecca withdrew a bundle of money and held it loftily out. "Are you sure?" she asked.

The bartender eyed it. Sighing, he withdrew some keys. "Follow me," he told them.

Heading towards the back, they ascended some stairs. As they walked down the hall, a woman exited a room and came the opposite way they were heading. She seemed to linger her glances to Tommy, though he was too tired to notice.

The bartended unlocked a door and opened it. "Here," he barked, holding his hand out for the money.

"Um, we need at least two rooms," Rebecca told him.

"Then twice the money," the bartended responded tersely.

"Twi- fine. Here, just take this," she told him, practically shoving the bundle into his hand and entering the room.

The room consisted of a single bed and wasn't too big. There was a window, at the back, but the building was directly against the walls protecting the city so you opened the window just to be able to put your hand against wood.

"How are we going to handle changing?" Laila asked slowly.

Still exhausted, Tommy started, "Huh? Oh yeah! We've only got one room don-"

"Tommy," Rebecca interrupted, "we need to kno-"

Tommy laughed again. "Don't worry about it. I wouldn't peep in on you guys when you're changing."

"Thanks," Rebecca responded in turn.

"Wait, we're just going to trust him in the same room as us and that he's going to just respect out privacy?" Monica asked.

"Do we really have any other choice?" Laila asked her in a resigned voice.

"We could toss him out into the alley," Monica muttered, then laughed to herself.

"Does anyone know what we're actually going to do tomorrow?" Mallika asked as she unrolled a blanket to lie upon.

No one answered as the group continued to get situated.

"It's a good thing our stuff isn't getting delivered, this time," Tommy joked. The last national band trip that was held resulted in many of members' luggage being held back, so that it had become a joke that most bandies knew well. But they knew the joke was simply postponing the question they had no answer to.


	6. Point and Purpose

**Note from the author:** School has started, but, like I promised, I'm going to try to keep this updated. I might not be able to do as good of a job due to school work but I will try.

**Chapter 29**  
**Point and Purpose**

So close, no matter how far  
Couldn't be much more from the heart  
Forever trust in who you are  
And nothing else matters

Never opened myself this way  
Life is ours...we live it our way  
All these words I don't just say  
And nothing else matters

Trust I seek and I find in you  
Everyday for us something new  
Open mind for a different view  
And nothing else matters  
-Metallica

The wooden stairs creaked softly as he descended down them. The place never slept, naturally. The room was smoke-filled and rank of the smell of liquor. Unnoticed, he swept out the front door.

The alley seemed no better. Sawdust from the wood making the floor for the upper story sprinkled around him, hazing his vision. Someone was digging through something someway down; he couldn't really tell what or almost even where.

He didn't bother to worry about it. Leaping up and grabbing portions of the wall of a building, he hoisted himself up and onto the roof. He tried to stable himself as the roof threatened to come unhinged. Regaining balance, he crawled up the roof like a crab, squeezing himself past the infinitesimal space between the roof and the wood used for the floor for the upper story. From there, he jumped onto the upper story.

The buildings here were far better than the self-made slum below. He traveled down the streets, searching for a way to the even higher floors above.

At last, he reached the top. It was here that he had to get somewhat creative. The very top level was for patrolling; only guards were allowed up there. When he had reached the top, it had happened to be when the guards were switching shifts. Quickly, he scrambled to the roof of one of the watch towers with no walls (other than the huge one surrounding the city). But, on his way up, a guard started to turn around.

Something made a noise as it collided with the wall of the city. "Åni änzè nufl?" one guard asked the other.

"I rëwg biÿaâ," the guard responded, looking over the wall. "Òck òn änzè cus hi?"

"Ie," the first guard disagreed. "Nmt asyt òn änaè toz ryt," he stated in a grave voice.

While they busied themselves looking over the wall, Tommy finished his way onto the straw-thatched roof. He came up to see Rebecca already sitting there.

"Seemed you needed a distraction," she told him simply.

"What was that," he asked, sitting down near her and looking out upon the plains. They talked quietly enough so as not to be heard. The guards were too busy quarreling at first; later, the one kept walking past the watch tower on his shift, so that they just had to keep reasonably quiet.

"A rock," she told him, "thrown against the wall."

Tommy inattentively nodded, looking around at everything before him. The great expanse of the city stretched outward to the back of him in a huge circle of glowing light. The gaping, dark silence of the plains lay before him. "Did you follow me?" he asked.

Rebecca laughed. "Yeah. Wanted to make sure everything was fine. Shouldn't be going off on your own."

"What're you, my mother?" Tommy joked.

She laughed again. "Tommy, I feel sorry _for_ your mother."

The smile ran away from Tommy's face. "You know, people always assume I'm more immature than I really am."

Rebecca cast him a questioning glance. "Tommy, I was kidding," she told him. "Besides, I traveled who knows how many miles trailing Handal and the group with you. If I really found you that annoying, I wouldn't have gone through all of that."

It was Tommy's turn to laugh. "Seems we have a habit of following others."

Rebecca glanced out towards the plains; a horse was heard neighing somewhere. "Let's hope that's not a trend we make for ourselves. There'll be war, soon enough."

Tommy scratched the back of his head. "I keep trying to forget that aspect." He sighed, looking for what seemed continually at the blank plains. It was impossible to see anything in the dark night. "I suppose I keep thinking there's no point anymore. That girl has the Valve off somewhere, it's out of our hands, Handal died, and who knows where the Hell anyone else is. What are we going to do, stranded somewhere on the plains of wherever this is."

"Norr-on," Rebecca told him.

"What part could we possibly play?"

Rebecca sighed this time. She hoisted her flag up from lying on the roof; she never seemed without it. "Remember when we first met. I had the unpleasant experience of catching you going to the bathroom in the woods because we were both running late (_really_ late) to the Councils in Rendellin. So we decided to travel together even though the first words out of your mouth then had been, 'Hey, wanna help me pull these up?' Yet, despite the constant stream of dialogue and _incredibly _sexual jokes, we probably would have not made it; or certainly we would have died in Vûdën before finding the Fellowship. And the entire time you kept talking about how you left your family behind and all because they had bothered to call you to Rendellin, right? Everyone's depending on surviving the swarms of Orchs that are going to come pouring with Rowel's power."

They sat in silence. A light appeared to flicker on in the plains.

"Did you see that?" Tommy asked.

"Yeah," Rebecca said, starting to raise herself up. "It's gotta be orchs."

XXX

Mallika awoke to the sound of incessant knocking.

Monica groaned loudly. "Tell Rebecca to shove her flag pole up their ass!" someone else shouted into their blankets.

Choosing a less violent route, Mallika heaved herself up from her sluggish slumber and meandered her way aimlessly and blindly to the door.

"Open up!" she heard Tommy scream. Finding the handle, the door swung open to reveal a disgruntled and alarmed Tommy Hersh. "Orchs are making an attack," he gasped out in rushed tones. "We need to go help defend the city."

Everyone else had started to wake up. Elise, the Fluten girl they had picked up, looking from Tommy to Monica and back again. The others started to crowd the doorway.

Laila shook her head. "It's not our fight," she said simply, waiving a hand in dismissal. "Remember how rude they were to us? We'll fight if we need to get out. 'Til then, I'm heading back to sleep."

"If they breach those walls," Tommy warned, refusing to move from his stance of the doorway, "we've got no chance of getting out of here in this dump. Besides, I'm sure they'll have the place surrounded soon enough; the quiet night had turned to rustling before I left Rebecca to warn the guards."

Laila looked reluctantly at her bed. Sighing, she said determinedly, "Fine. Let's go help."

Tommy started to smile. "Yeah, let's kick some orch ass!"

XXX

For a dramatic fight, it might have been raining. Just drizzling would have been enough, enough to dampen the moods and bring a level of downcast to the impending doom. If the aim was incredibly dramatic, it might have included pouring rain and intense winds. As it was, neither form was present that night. It was the calm peace that Rebecca and Tommy had been gazing at from the top of the watchtower, though less empty.

Orchs were swarming around the city. Notified in time (due to Rebecca), the guards had sent out as many of their own troops as they could to line the outside of the wall of the city. The two armies stood facing each other, waiting for the signal for their commencement in battle.

Monica and Mallika stood beside each other; Monica looked gloomily at the swarm of Orchs while Mallika inspected her sword. She rolled it back and forth in her hand and swung it slightly up and down. Monica sighed. "How's Sheela doing?" she asked Mallika, not glancing towards her. Mallika didn't look up either; a bow upon strings squealed in the distance.

"She's good. You know how sisters are." Mallika laughed as she twirled the tip of her blade in a small circle. "She wants to play the trumpet. Parents are having a fit." Monica slightly laughed as well. "How's Ed doing?" Mallika was next to ask.

"Meh," was Monica's only response.

XXX

Laila made her way through the troops, looking over their stature and the equipment they carried. Every once in a while she'd look out at the massing orchs. Elise trailed behind her; for Monica's peace, she had ordered the Flute to follow her and Kyrstin. Of like mindedness (at least in this case), both Laila and Kyrstin had felt a necessity to see who they'd be staking their lives with. They saw a collection of axes in the mob of Norirrims, with the occasion sword or mace making its appearance as well.

Kyrstin, dressed in her trench coat and having the ability of wrapping herself in the trappings of authority when it suited her, was a sight of notice amongst the ranks. Laila, not bothering with how she came across to others, went mostly unnoticed expect when passing by or when viewed. She had the look of business about her. Elise, however, went completely unnoticed, always.

"Well, we may not have too much to worry about," Laila spoke back to Kyrstin as she continued to make her way through the crowd. "If they stay vigilant, despite the amount of orchs, we ought to be fine."

"There is, probably, a growing number of orchs facing them," Kyrstin responded as she watched worry cross several faces. "Excuse my curiosity, but how do you expect them to stay vigilant?"

Laila semi-paused as she considered this, then roughly patted the first man next to her on the back, saying, "You're a good soldier; keep up the work," and continued on her walk.

XXX

"Is this everyone?" Tommy asked the leader of the militia. He nodded. "Alright, we'll just have to do our best from here out."

"Why are they attacking us," the leader asked next. "I mean, why not go after a different city, like the king's, perhaps? Clearly they're capable of getting by without being noticed."

"Um – " Tommy started.

"It's because you would've come back to haunt them," Rebecca answered. She was crouched off to the side, looking through the maze of legs at the impending storm. She had been eerily silent the entire time that Tommy had been talking to the commander. When Tommy had arrived, the commander had seemed emotionally shaken up. "They want to take down each city individually so that you all can't rally to save your king." The commander nodded hurriedly; Rebecca stood up. "Let's find the others, Tommy. It's best we move on after this is over."

XXX

Laila glanced out as the chattering in the air rose. "Ehh," she murmured while continuing her walk.

"What's the matter," asked Kyrstin as she took care to make sure her flag didn't collide into anyone as she walked.

"I just thought of my brother, is all." She casted a glance towards the plains again.

"To be honest, I don't know why we're doing this," Kyrstin told Laila, though probably more to fill the silence than for anything else. "This whole thing rests on the Valve Bearer. What we do here won't make much of a difference in the grand scheme of things."

Laila continued to look at the soldiers she passed, thinking to maybe give them more moral support. She saw one looking at a photo held in his hand of a woman and a child. "Still, it would be a shame for anything to happen to innocents here."

XXX

Mallika smiled, which reflected in the blade of her sword. "Glad to see nothing's changed between you two."

Monica shook her head back and forth to let her hair run down. "You know brothers," she said.

"Not quite."

"Well, siblings."

"That I do know."

Kyrstin, Elise, and Laila emerged just as a cry was let off by the orchs. Laila hoisted her sword up as she commented, "About time."

The expanse of the militia charged outwards from their circle surrounding the city.

None of the people invited to Rendellin were randomly chosen. They may have not all been needed, but they all had a reason for being called and informed of the great rumor that now crossed all lands. Of the Fellowship, all could wield a weapon, other than Jeff. For whatever reason of their past, they had been conditioned and ready fighters, even if usually peaceful. Never was there a reason to be unable to fight when given the opportunity.

In an almost crazed fashion, the first lines of Orchs charged forward, waving their arms witlessly in midair and snarling at the top of their lungs.

With a swift swing of her flag, Kyrstin took down four that were incoming. Laila cleaved the head off of one and stabbed the stomach of the one behind it.

Tommy charged into a group of oncoming Orchs, swinging a sword of his own. He took off the heads of two, turning around to get the abdomen of another. As he cleared two more, he found resistance in another. He found himself buckling back as the Orch bore down on him. Giving up on his strength, he jumped back as he let go of his sword and pulled out his drumsticks. Charging towards the startled Orch, he jammed the sticks as hard as he could into the neck. To his surprise, the dirty and browning skin gave way like paper.

Mallika cleaved a few orchs of her own. As she turned to meet an approached one, she let out an, "Oh!" in a startle as a slayed one fell beside her. She turned to her right and took down three in a row.

Elise, timid as always, was holding her own, best she could. Yet, when she was charged, she found herself too paralyzed to move. Kyrstin, catching her from the corner of her eye, tossed her flag up in a move that was performance material. Running towards the ready-to-cower Flute, she removed a sword of her own from its sheath, striking down others as she headed straight for her target. Re-sheathing the sword and jumping up to catch the flag, she gave the two Orchs' heads indents.

It was Rebecca though, of all, that seemed the most in tune with what she was doing. Again, that silence and concentration of hers marked her out. Yet she didn't fight like one who had a personal vendetta or just a want to kill. She was purposeful, constantly conscious of who was around her, and she did what she knew she was required and had to do.

So the night continued as the masses of Orchs (and Norirrims) thinned. Yet it was the Norirrims who won, the final orchs taking off into the rising morning. It was just as peaceful a morning as the night.

XXX  
XXX  
XXX

Translations and Pronunciations (letter by letter):

Åni änzè nufl? – What was that?

Pronunciation: scr-emf-brak chr-emf-erk-klot emf-yedt-noff-orcal

I rëwg biÿaâ, – I don't know,

Pronunciation: brak root-herg-vrek-hargl ber-brak-mel-armch-ernt

Òck òn änzè cus hi? – Perhaps it was a squirrel?

Pronunciation: morak-wert-iglo morak-emf chr-emf-erk-klot wert-yedt-ruvlo breev-brak

Ie, – No,

Pronunciation: brak-klirt

Nmt asyt òn änaè toz ryt, – These days it is always Orchs,

Pronunciation: emf-orzk-yung armch-ruvlo-dar-yung morak-emf chr-emf-armch-klot yung-hemp-erk root-dar-yung

Vûdën – Mornia

Pronunciation: vork-wart-lurmc-herg-emf


End file.
